


Blink Of An Eye

by happydaygirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blood, Guilty d'Artagnan, Hurt!Aramis, Major Whump, Stranded, gut shot, multi-chaptered, worried!musketeers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaygirl/pseuds/happydaygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Aramis whump- while accompanying a haul of gold to Paris, the Musketeers are attacked by robbers on the road. Aramis rushes to save the life of a friend, but ignores a golden rule in the process- now it may cost him his life. Will be multi-chaptered, with lots of hurt!Aramis and comfort as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Athos clenched and unclenched his calves and thighs above his horse, trying to stop them going numb as they entered the fifth hour of travelling. The ground beneath their steeds was rocky and uneven, causing them to be extra vigilant for bumps and holes in the road- the carriage that contained the haul of gold that they were accompanying to Paris was also having a rough time; coins jangled around and once or twice Porthos was sure one of the wheels was slowly loosening free.

All the checks that had to be made every time Porthos pointed out a wonky wheel had cost them many minutes, and a trip that should have lasted two or three hours at best was rapidly becoming a long haul journey- Athos could see that the sun was rapidly going down behind a thick bank of clouds.

'Looks like rain.' D'Artagnan took the words right out of his mouth, and he looked behind him to Aramis, who sighed atop his own horse. They looked across at the treasury guards around the horse drawn carriage, all trotting along in practiced formation. 'They're not going to want to stop.' Aramis muttered, before frowning as the first drops of rain patterned onto his hat. 'Lovely...' He chuckled to the nearest guard, who didn't look across. 'I do love spring showers!' He added, unperturbed.

The road they were on seemed to go on for miles, and Athos hadn't seen anyone- or anything- in all that time. Boredom wasn't part of his vocabulary; he knew to watch out for danger at every second, and to always be vigilant...but even he was finding his eyes wandering to birds and trees, just wiling some of the time away.

D'Artagnan slumped on his horse as a rumble of thunder crashed over head- he blew a portion of his fringe from his eyes, eyeing Porthos with a frown as the older man laughed and patted him on the back. 'Wait for the snow!' He grinned, pretending to shiver. 'When you actually think that your toes are about to fall off!'

'Amongst other, more important things!' Aramis butted in, shaking his head as if remembering a very bad time.

'I bet!' D'Artagnan groaned, sitting up straighter as the dark paint of the carriage was illuminated by lightening.'I hate storms... ' he muttered, sighing to himself.

For a few minutes their was silence as everyone settled in to ride out the rain- the treasury guards flicked up their collars on their coats, while the Musketeers pushed their hats further on their heads to keep out the lashing rain.

'Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques...' Aramis sang softly, more to annoy the guards than anything else- their stoic faces and unwavering silence made him feel on edge, like they were expecting something to happen.

He whistled the rest of the tune as the rain came down in sheets, his legs getting wetter and wetter with each passing second. 'Isn't it time we looked for shelter?' He called after another barrage of thunder.

Athos turned, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. 'Captain Treville has given us a strict timescale...the King wants this gold as quickly as possible-'

'-at this rate our damn horses are going to drown!' Aramis interrupted, hair plastered to his head. Athos looked around, the squelching sound of the mud getting louder as the horses and wheels of the carriage trampled through thick mud.

'We might get stuck.' Porthos pointed out, tipping his head to the wheels of the carriage. 'That'll really bugger up our timescale!'

Athos sighed, knowing each of his friends were right. He stifled a laugh as he caught sight of d'Artagnan...the lad looked like a soaked puppy atop his horse.

'Its not up to me...it's up to Captain Silent and Commander Mute.' He said, nodding at the two main treasury guards just a little to the front of them. The men didn't even look up, nor acknowledge his words.

'I've got this...' Aramis muttered, moving his horse forward, passing Porthos and giving him a wink. 'I have a natural affiliation to these men...' He boasted, slowing down as he sat across from 'Captain Silent'. 'We're worried about the weather-' he began, before sucking in a breath as his horse slipped on a muddy bump, almost jarring a leg. 'The horses are going to bolt soon!' He added, eyes wide. 'Just a few moments in the dry will rejuvenate them-'

'No.' His answer came in a jarring syllable, brash and final.

'No...?' Aramis repeated, irritation rising. 'What if we get stuck, will you say no then, too?'

'We'll carry on until the next town-'

'That could be three leagues away!' Aramis butted in, frowning as his horse shook her mane and threw water into his face.

'The King will want his gold as soon as possible.' The man replied, brushing rain out of his own hair.

'Fine.' Aramis muttered shortly, reigning back his horse with a grumble so he trotted back in line with a chuckling Porthos. 'Shut it.' He told him, sniffling.

The rain continued to pour from the sky, and as they began their sixth consecutive hour on the road all any of them could hear was the hooves of their horses, the squelching of of wheels and the incessant sniffs and shudders of the men under the dark clouds.

'This. Is. Stupid.' Aramis muttered, feeling a droplet of rain run down his nose and fall off the end- he sniffed, his teeth chattering.

'How far away are we from Paris?' D'Artagnan spoke into the rain, shuddering as looming darkness started creeping in. He hadn't made the trip before, Athos remembered.

'Not far.' He told him, shaking his hat of rain. 'Thirty more miles or so.'

'Thirty?' The young man's voice was high with shock. He grumbled to himself, pulling his coat even tighter around him.

The first sign that anything was wrong came a few minutes later- they had turned a corner into a heavily wooded lane, with oaks leaning in towards them with pressing darkness. Aramis eyed the lane warily, one hand fisted in his reigns, the other lingering towards his blade.

'I'm not liking this...' He whispered to Porthos.

'Me neither.' His friend confirmed- seconds later the horses of the guards up ahead nickered and snorted, baying upwards as they saw something up ahead- 'steady girl...' Athos whispered, holding up a closed fist to herald them to stop.

No sooner had the carriage of gold slowed all hell broke loose as a musket shot sounded in the silence, followed by yells and shouts from ahead. 'AMBUSH!' Porthos cried, immediately getting off his horse with his hand darting for weapon.

A cacophony of shouts and blurred action followed as Aramis ran forwards himself, eyes scanning the rain soaked lane ahead; he threw himself to the side as a blade came out of nowhere- steel met steel as his own blade crashed onto it; Aramis grunted as he pushed the man backwards and onto his backside as he slipped in the mud.

He finished him off with a quick swipe of his blade, and before the man's head even hit the ground he was up again, towards the two horses that pulled the gold. 'Steady...steady...' He muttered, trying to calm them, but it was no use- 'Untie them!' He yelled at a guard that had just dispatched another thief; he looked at him like he'd gone mad, so without another word he pulled out his dirk and cut through the leather that attached the horses.

'Are you insane?' Athos shouted across.

'Probably!' Aramis muttered as the horses bucked free, before running down the lane. 'But at least they won't bolt with all that gold attached to them!'

Athos nodded, impressed by his friend's quick thinking. A cry of alarm followed by a hard thump made them turn round as another thunderclap sounded. 'D'artagnan!' Aramis yelled, almost slipping as he ran forwards to the noise.

He slid around the corner of the gold carriage to find D'Artagnan barring the way to a bruising looking fellow- the young man had backed himself against the door of the carriage, and the thief was holding a musket in his hands.

'Put it down!' Aramis growled, prodding his back with his Rapier. 'I won't ask again.'

Whereas in most circumstances when a man had a blade in his back, he'd surrender...this one seemed to have some kind of death wish. 'Tell your friend to move, and I will.' He growled back, quite calm.

'Are you deaf as well as stupid?' Aramis asked lightly, pressing harder. 'I said I won't ask again.'

'Well...' The man said, his back still to him, 'then you've just made a very stupid mistake.'

'Me? My friend, I-' the man moved as fast at the lightening that illuminated the scene as he turned to face Aramis, the barrel of the musket firm in his hands- Aramis, by the sheer grace of God himself, took this opportunity to conveniently slip on the thick mud under foot, and fall un-gracefully down onto his backside.

The musket shot was deafening, and Aramis was very glad it was the trees behind him that got the ball, and not his head- he heard Athos shout his name as he knelt up, hands balled into fists; he punched the man in the belly, before levering himself upwards and striking him across the face.

'I think it was you that made the mistake!' He spat, delivering the final blow as the man lurched to the ground. As he sank to the floor his eyes met with d'Artagnan, who had paled considerably.

'Amateur .' He muttered, before nodding at the lad. 'Nice work.' He smiled, making to pat him on the shoulder.

'ARAMIS!' The scream of warning from Athos came too late. He stiffened as a pain ripped through his stomach, coupling with the smell of smoke and the blast of another musket.

His eyes widened as d'Artagnan clasped his shoulder to keep him upright. 'Aramis?' He muttered, eyes scanning for danger.

'Always...keep your eyes...open.' Aramis growled through gritted teeth, cursing himself for not looking around. He sank to his knees, putting a hand underneath his coat as a war cry sounded and Porthos cut through the man that had shot him as he was reloading. 'Take that you bastard!' He growled, eyes wild.

Aramis took his hand back out, balking as he saw blood. 'Aramis!' Athos cried, falling to his knees in the mud beside him, eyes roving his face before looking for his wound.

'Where? Where?' He asked urgently, face ashen.

'Gut shot.' Aramis growled, biting back a groan. 'Nothing I can't...handle...' He sat in the mud, rain falling in their faces. He closed his eyes as pain enveloped him. He let out a long, low moan as Athos cut through his white linen uniform. 'How bad?' He asked as Athos let out a groan of his own.

'How bad?' He demanded again, looking to Porthos as his friend came near.

'We need help.' Athos muttered, before looking round and swearing.

'There's nothing round here...' Porthos replied, panic levels rising.

'Aramis needs help or he's going to die.' Athos looked across at his old friend- his eyes met panicked blue ones. Aramis squeezed his eyes together again as pain shot like fire across his stomach- he yelled out, before trying to quell his pain by grinding his teeth together, and as he did Athos looked across to D'Artagnan, who was clasping Aramis' shoulder.

'We've got to get him back to Paris. Fast.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers begin to worry when they realise the horses have bolted and they have nowhere to take Aramis to check his wound....until D'Artagnan comes to the rescue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter because it sets things up nicely for the next ones-enjoy!

Aramis sucked in another breath as a peal of thunder erupted over their heads- Athos was too busy rummaging around for fresh, dry cloth in his pack to take much notice. He regarded his friend with worried eyes as Aramis' breathing began speeding up as pain overtook him in another wave.

'I need you calm.' He instructed, trying to keep his voice firm. 'I need you alert too.' He quickly took a strip of cloth and pushed it into the wound, ignoring the protesting hiss of pain from his friend.

'I'm...all...ears..' Each word was forced out as Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and let out another groan. 'That was a...good shot too...' He added, giving a small shrug. 'His...instructor should be...proud...'

'Maybe you should stop talking?' Porthos quipped from his side, normally jovial face now a mask of anxiety.

'You said Paris was only thirty miles away?' D'Artagnan asked, wide eyes looking around. The bodies of three thieves littered the sodden ground, as did the bodies of some treasury guards too- their comrades were silent as they gathered them up into a pile. 'The horses have all bolted.' He muttered tersely.

'It will take hours to get to Paris without them.' Athos growled, cursing to himself.

'I can...walk it...' Aramis' voice was crackling with ill-concealed pain. He looked up at Athos, who was holding him up from the soaking ground. 'I can, you know.'

'Of course- I'll just prop you up and we can toddle on back to Paris with you bleeding out along the way!' He muttered, trying not to roll his eyes.

Aramis snorted, groaning out a yell seconds later as the motion ripped pain through his stomach. 'Maybe you should just be quiet now?' Porthos suggested again, eyebrow quirked.

'We need to get out of the rain- find somewhere decent to check his wound properly..' Athos muttered, looking around. 'I can scout ahead?' D'Artagnan offered, standing up.

'No, it'll take too long- we'll just have to move together.' Athos said, shaking his head. The guards were still looking after their dead, but he knew that they'd have to leave them in order to get off the road. 'We're a man down!' He called over to "Captain Silent", who looked up at them with a blood spattered face.

'In case you haven't noticed, we're four men down!' He growled, also standing and brushing down his coat. 'And we're very sorry-' d'Artagnan muttered, before tossing his head at Aramis, '-but this one is still alive. We'll get justice for your men...but we need to save our man first.'

The man breathed in deeply, ready to argue, but he softened considerably as he caught sight of the glares Porthos and Athos were giving him behind d'Artagnan's back. 'I have two men left.' He sighed, before looking down at Aramis as he let out another growl of pain. 'We'll find somewhere for your man to go.'

'We're coming with you.' Athos replied, before looking down at Aramis, who had squeezed his eyes shut again, teeth chattering more violent as cold started setting in. 'I have to get you up.' He muttered, giving him an apologetic look.

'I'm alright...stop...arrghh...f-fussing...' Aramis replied, shaky hands venturing to his stomach. 'T-tis but a scratch...' He smiled weakly- his stomach lurched nonetheless as blood seeped onto his hands.

Athos hummed in response, knowing he couldn't argue with him. 'Lets get you standing...' He said instead, standing up. 'Get behind him.' He instructed d'Artagnan, while Porthos took up position to his other side.

'Ready?'

'And w-waiting..'

'Alright...three...two...and one-' the muffled yelp of pain that came from Aramis as they pulled and pushed him into a standing position made even Porthos crinkle his eyes in residual pain.

They stood in silence, Athos and Porthos holding onto his arms, whilst D'Artagnan covered his back, as Aramis swayed on the spot, swearing colourfully in French.

'Alright?' Porthos asked, if only to lighten the mood.

Aramis gave him a side look, eyebrow quirked. 'Perfect.' He replied, giving him a weak smile.

'Can you walk?' Athos asked, hand still laced around his forearm. He looked down, alarm making his eyes widen as he saw blood leaking from the now uncovered wound as the cloth fell onto the ground- the rain was mixing with it, turning it watery as it ran down his friend's abdomen.

He quickly pulled out another strip, hoping the others had more in their own packs. 'Hold this on your stomach.' He told Aramis, who sucked in a breath as the wound was once again stoppered.

He looked around, noting that d'Artagnan had left Aramis' back- he called his name, only to hear a reply from behind him, as well as the soft snort of a horse. 'Look who I found stuck in a bush!' The young man grinned, hands tightly fisted in the reigns.

Porthos sighed in relief, and Athos had to admit that his heart soared at the sight. 'Good work.' He praised d'Artagnan, before looking to Aramis again. He frowned as his friend shook his head, before moaning in pain once more.

'You're getting on it.' Porthos growled, voice firm.

'That treasury guard over there has a bad head wound- he can take it, and I'll walk-'

'To hell you are!' Athos growled, voice dark. 'He's not bleeding out from a gut shot!'

'I'll manage.' Aramis replied, face pinched in pain as he sucked in another breath.

'You get on that horse, or I'll shoot you again.' Porthos' words heralded pain, but was said in such a way that Aramis would have laughed if he didn't know it would cause his stomach to contract in agony.

He looked to Athos, who was giving him the tried and tested stare that had won many battles against his stubbornness. 'Fine.' He gave in, before he squeezed his eyes shut again. 'But I'm not going to like it...'

'At this precise moment, I don't really give a damn.' Athos told him, before holding his shoulder as Aramis took a shaky step forwards. 'Can you walk?'

'I'll give it a bloody good go!' Was his reply, so he just held tightly to one arm with Porthos on the other, as d'Artagnan held the horse steady as they came slowly nearer.

Aramis groaned as he put weight on the foot that held up that particular area of stomach; he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his forehead in Athos' shoulder, shaking it weakly.

'I'm sorry Aramis but you need to do this- you can't walk two paces! Athos muttered into his hair, face apologetic as Aramis groaned again, voice heightening in a whimper before he cleared his throat, shaking his head. 'I'm alright...' He muttered, giving him a weak smile. 'Its just a horse.'

'A very...high horse.' D'Artagnan clarified, looking up at the saddle with uncertainty.

'He can do it.' Athos replied, flicking him a gaze. 'He has to.'

Finally they managed to position Aramis at the horse. 'Quickly- we need to see his wound!' Porthos growled, panic and worry for his friend spilling from his voice.

'I know, Porthos.' Athos agreed, nodding slowly. 'But it's no good if he collapses before we get him to safety.' He looked to Aramis, who steeled himself. 'Ready?'

'I was born ready.' Came his reply, so he nodded and stood behind him, ready to catch him if he fell- the first manoeuvre was textbook, but the effect was somewhat ruined as Aramis slumped onto the saddle as he fought to swing his other leg over, groaning loudly in pain as his stomach hit the horse's back.

D'Artagnan raced to the other side, keeping the horse calm as he did, as Athos and Porthos leaned upwards to help Aramis. 'I can't...I can't do it...' He wheezed, breathing haggard as pain ripped through his stomach. 'I have to get down-'

'To hell you are!' Athos growled, rolling his eyes, before he deftly put a foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up- he quickly got Aramis sitting properly, before gently sitting behind him, hands on the reigns.

'Horse...lord...' Aramis teased, a hand pressed to his stomach. 'Still...bleeding...' He observed.

'Of course it is- we need to get into the dry...Porthos, d'Artagnan- go with the treasury guards and find somewhere dry and warm. We'll be right behind you!'

The rain was beginning to lessen slightly as Athos gently chided his horse forwards- Aramis growled out at the pain it elicited from his stomach. 'Stop complaining,' Athos muttered, trying to lighten the mood a little, wiping his brow and replacing his hat. 'Can't help it...if it h-hurts...' Aramis replied, breathing through clenched teeth.

'Hold on, we'll get you sorted soon.' He promised as he sped up a little bit more, trying to ignore the worry spearing in his chest as Aramis leant back onto him, groaning with each step of the horse. This was just a simple injury, nothing they couldn't handle- he hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally find shelter, and find out something shocking about their mission.....

Darkness was beginning to fall around the small group of sodden men as they came upon the ramshackle, run down barn. The wooden roof was thick with rot and damp, and mould grew on the walls, but as d'Artagnan poked his head around the door, he was relieved to see that the inside space was dry and spacious.

'In here!' He called, tossing his head in the direction of the door, before waiting as the horse carrying Athos and Aramis slowly got nearer. Athos nodded his thanks, before tapping Aramis' shoulder, alarm rising as his friend's head shot upright from where it had lain on his chest- he hasn't realised he had lost consciousness. 'Come on, we're there now...' He told him, to which Aramis cleared his throat and nodded, wincing and hissing in another breath. 'About...t-time...' He mumbled as Athos slowed the horse to a halt.

Porthos and d'Artagnan moved towards them, arms raised as Aramis teetered by himself as Athos leant back. 'Easy does it...' Porthos muttered, eyes crinkled in concern.

'I can do it...' Aramis waved away their concern, but his shaky legs told a different story. A sudden dizzying moment nearly sent him off the horse altogether if it wasn't for Athos grasping him around the shoulders and Porthos seizing a leg.

'Steady...' Athos warned as Aramis sucked in a shaky breath. He looked to Porthos, whose eyes had gone wide with worry. 'Get him down.' He muttered, and together they gently managed to pull Aramis off the horse; he leant heavily against Porthos as his feet touched the ground again, before groaning in agony. 'Alright, it's alright- let's get you inside.' Porthos muttered, flinging an arm around him to support his weight as Aramis weakly nodded, face ashen.

'Where are the treasury guards?' D'Artagnan muttered as Athos tied the horse to a nearby tree, wiping blood off his hands as he did so.

'Don't know- but they seem to be out of our way, for now.' He shrugged, before heading in, with d'Artagnan close behind.

He frowned with worry as he saw Aramis slumped on the floor near the only window; his haggard breathing the only sound in the muted silence of the barn. Porthos was with him, an arm on his shoulder.

'Lets see the wound now,' Athos said as he crossed the room, eyes flicking downwards as Aramis groaned and turned to face him.

He knelt down and deftly moved the man's shaky and bloodstained hands from the wound- he tried not to react as he saw what had happened.

'A through and through?' Porthos muttered, arching his neck to see- a ball that had gone all the way through was always the best to deal with...less worry about infection, more the flow of blood. His blood turned cold as Athos breathed in deeply and shook his head, a minute expression that made everyone pale. 'No. It's still there...' He gently pressed the bloodied wound- he had wondered why there wasn't a lot of blood. The ball was holding it all in.

Aramis growled as he gently probed the area- he yelped loudly as his fingers struck something hard, 'there is it...' Athos confirmed as Aramis cursed him loudly.

'Stop touching it then!' Aramis growled, squeezing his eyes shut as Athos sat back.

'You've lost enough blood as it is- we have to get that out of you before it infects your wound.'

'If it hasn't already.' D'Artagnan muttered, eyes wide as he surveyed the scene.

'Wow, you really need work on your bedside manner!' Aramis growled, shaking his head. He looked across to Porthos, eyes now serious. 'Does it look infected?'

'It don't look good, mate.' Porthos muttered, shrugging.

The door banged open as Athos put a fresh cloth into the wound, trying his best to ignore the yelps of pain- Porthos and d'Artagnan were up in an instant, blades in their hands; they relaxed as they saw it was only the treasury guards and their captain.

'Thought you'd abandoned us!' One of them growled, pressing a strip of cloth to his temple.

'Thought you were behind us.' Porthos shot back, holstering his blade.

The captain ignored the remark, eyes instead settling in Aramis. 'Anything we can do?' He asked as he came near.

'Medical supplies- forceps, alcohol, scalpel, cloth, bandages...the ball is still in him.' Athos reeled off, eyes creased in worry now as Aramis hitched in a shaky breath. 'Come on, breathe easy now...' He told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

The captain nodded, a resigned look in his eyes as he caught sight of the wound. 'You realise, that with a gut shot there is little-'

'Go! We need those supplies!' Athos cut across him, well aware of what he was about to say- he didn't want it said in front of Aramis.

As the man walked away Aramis cleared his throat. 'S-sorry about the g-gold...' He muttered, an apologetic look in his eyes, 'my fault entirely.'

Athos was about to rebuke the blame when he suddenly caught a look pass between the guards. 'What?' He asked, confusion fast turning into irritation. The captain walked out without looking back, leaving his two men behind.

Porthos stepped closer, hand once again settling on his blade. 'What was that look for?' He asked them.

Still they said nothing. 'Tell us, damn it!' Athos growled. 'A man could die here- we have the right to know.'

'Your captain didn't tell you?' One of them said, unwilling to meet their hard stares.

'Tell us what?' D'Artagnan muttered, crossing the room and kneeling beside Aramis, who had laid back on the floor, eyes closed as pain overtook him again.

'The-the gold. It...it was a diversion.' The man muttered, before correcting himself. 'It was a dummy for the real thing.'

'So the gold...that we treated as real...that we put our lives on the line to protect-' Athos began, each word laced with unrivalled anger as he stood slowly to face them. 'That my friend got shot for...Wasn't real gold?'

The men stepped back at the eruption of emotion, as Athos bore down on them, his eyes flashing. 'Captain Treville said to treat it as a real mission, a real cargo- to fool possible thieves. The gold is worthless, but looks real to look and touch.' The man muttered, swallowing hard. 'Thought you knew...'

'Get out.' Athos shot at them, voice laced with venom. 'Now.' The two men left without another word. As the door banged shut behind them Athos looked to the ceiling and swore loudly, closing his eyes. 'I tell you something-' he told Porthos, anger almost overtaking him as they looked down at Aramis again, '-if he dies Treville will have to go through hell and high water to make me forgive him!'

A sharp intake of breath made him spin around- Aramis was still on the floor, his breathing haggard and irregular. 'Keep breathing normally Aramis,' He told him as he fell to his knees behind him. 'Where are the supplies?!' He yelled in the direction of the door- Porthos flew from the room, bellowing out the message again.

'W-where am I?' Aramis stuttered, wide eyes looking around as Athos squeezed his forearm. 'What h-happened?'

'He's going into shock... ' Athos muttered to d'Artagnan, who quickly took off his leather overcoat and draped it across Aramis' shoulders. 'Aramis, it's ok- you've been shot. You've got a nasty wound and we need to see to it.'

'N-nothing I can't h-handle...' Aramis stuttered, eyelids flickering.

'Stay awake, stay with me...' Athos muttered, clicking his fingers in his face to keep him alert. Aramis' eyes refocused somewhat, but as Athos touched his hand he felt that it was cool and clammy to the touch.

'Lie back...' D'Artagnan suggested, quickly untying Aramis' cloak and folding it to make a rough pillow.

'Help is coming...' Athos promised, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it, but whether for Aramis' comfort or his own he did not know...

Seconds later, and the door crashed open again with Porthos rushing inside, a large black bag in his arms. 'They found another horse- luckily it had all the medical stuff in it...' He muttered, breathless, as he placed it on the floor.

'Do you know what you're doing?' He asked Athos as he rifled through it.

Athos looked back up at him, eyes wide, before he gave a little shrug. 'How hard can it be?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment!  
> Next chapter will be up soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos turns into a surgeon, and there is lots of blood....

Athos sucked in a breath as he pulled out the instruments he'd be using- long forceps (the handle caked with rust and blood, he noticed with a thrill of disgust) as well as bandages and cloths for it.

He looked down at Aramis, who was looking at him with wide eyes, 'I have to get the ball out, otherwise infection will set in within hours.' He told him, before taking out bottles of alcohol.

'Y-you don't know...what you're d-doing...' The panic was evident in his friend's voice.

'No,' he admitted, cursing his already shaking hands. 'You have to tell me.'

'Uh- aren't we going to, you know...?' D'Artagnan motioned a punching motion, worry in his face. 'Surely he can't be awake?'

'Do you have medical knowledge?' The question was almost rhetorical.

'No.'

'Well there you go then- we have no idea how to actually, properly treat a wound like this. Aramis does.' He looked down at Aramis, who had gone even paler. 'I'm sorry.' Athos told him, eyes round with concern.

'Y-you need to wash it with the a-alcohol,' his breath hitched as Athos took away the cloak pillow and laid him flat.

'I know some bits, but I don't want to hurt you even more...' He muttered, unstoppering a bottle and taking a sniff. 'Potent stuff.'

'Not for d-drinking...' Aramis gave a weak chuckle, already bracing himself. Athos breathed in as Porthos knelt beside him, hand on Aramis' knee- he poured a little on the wound, inwardly wincing himself as Aramis hissed and contorted his stomach; blood ran down in rivets as it mixed with the liquid. 'More, you need to put more on...' Aramis growled, eyes squeezed shut as Athos upended the bottle, but not before pouring some on his own hands.

The muffled yell of pain made d'Artagnan want to put his hands on his ears, but he held his friend's shoulder as Aramis choked out a yell with his teeth clamped firmly together- he hummed through the pain as Athos put the bottle down.

'I've changed my mind - hit me and knock me out!' He cried, voice cracking.

'Tell me what to do then, and I'll oblige.' Athos promised, face white.

'Hard to-to explain...' His voice trailed off as pain erupted again. 'You need to d-dig the ball out...'

'Alright, hold on...' Athos felt worry spear in his chest as he took up the scalpel and the forceps. 'I can do it from here...wash it out again and dress it after?' He asked, eyes creased in a frown.

'Just get on with it.' Aramis groaned, eyes closing again.

'Alright, this is going to hurt...'

'Really?' Aramis replied, already tensing up as Athos came nearer. 'I had n-no idea..!'

Athos shot him a look, before looking at the other two. 'Take his shoulders and hold him down.' He instructed, before kneeling at the wound.

He tentatively touched the wound, once again trying to find the elusive musket ball- he tried to shut himself off from the hitched breaths and groans to his left; he couldn't worry about that now. 'Give him something to bite on.' He said as he probed the delicate skin, eliciting another yelp.

He turned his head to see Porthos gently putting a strap of leather in Aramis' mouth, before stroking his sweaty hair to comfort him. 'He's good now.' He told him, so he started again.

The ball wasn't very big, but it had seemed to have caused enough damage- the tissue around it was ripped and bloodied. 'Got it.' He murmured, before taking a deep breath.

He took up the scalpel and gently inserted it into the wound- all the while ignoring protesting screams and yelps- and began to rock it slightly back and forth to get purchase on the ball.

He hissed in alarm as Aramis bucked and his stomach moved- 'I can't do this if he moves around!' He cried, hands shaking. 'Its nearly out.' He lied, hoping it would stop his friend from moving incessantly.

'H-hurts...' Aramis shot back as he spat out the leather, eyes squeezed shut.

'I know, I know it does...a few more minutes of pain and then you're done.' Athos promised, hoping the estimation wasn't a lie. 'Just hold still.'

Porthos gently replaced the strap, giving d'Artagnan a look.

Athos returned to digging out the ball, hoping that he'd magically hit the ball and just bring it out- the reality was that it took more than several minutes; it was stuck tight, held in place by tissue and skin it had destroyed on the way in.

Blood oozed from the bullet hole as Athos began to get desperate- it was so close (visible now) but he couldn't get purchase. He felt sweat bead and fall down his temple, coupled with a worry in his stomach as Aramis almost choked on the leather strap. 'Mimgers!' Aramis yelled out from behind it, face ashen white.

'What?' Athos muttered, voice high as blood seeped through his fingers. Aramis groaned out another scream of agony before spitting out the strap once more.

'Just use your fingers!' He cried, panting.

Athos looked at him with wide eyes, before taking a deep breath- he put the metal forcep down, where it hit the floor with a clink. He replaced it with his hand; his fingers were a bit bigger than the implement, but they held more grip and purchase as he carefully looped them around the musket ball.

'This is going to really hurt...' He whispered, steeling himself- he gently pulled on it, wincing as Aramis screamed out, his hips bucking again.

'Just get it over with!' D'Artagnan muttered, hands tightly wound in Aramis's sleeve. 'Quickly!'

Each time Athos went to pull it out, Aramis screamed so loud he wouldn't have been surprised if Paris could hear it- his hands slipped on the blood, sending his fingers down onto flesh; the scream was long and drawn out this time, until it faltered slightly as agony overtook him entirely.

A grunt followed this, coupled by a loud dull thud- Athos felt Aramis go limp under his fingers; he looked up to see Porthos massaging his knuckles, his eyes uncharacteristically glassy.

'Sorry,' he choked out, a hand on his friend's shoulder again, 'I couldn't stand him like that no longer.'

'Perhaps it is better this way.' Athos nodded, breathing out deeply. He continued on, now free to scrabble around to get a purchase on the ball. 'Got the little bastard...' He muttered, before gently levering it out, where he looked at it with disgust.

He put it on the ground beside them, before taking up another brown bottle. 'Whats that?' D'Artagnan asked.

'Vinegar.' Athos replied, pouring it onto a linen cloth. 'Good job he's unconscious.' He gently placed the soaked cloth into the wound, using his fingers to press it it- Aramis stirred weakly, moaning lightly as the cloth settled. The waft of vinegar scent made Athos sniff and wrinkle his nose, but he knew he had to do it otherwise the wound would get infected if it were exposed.

'What now?' D'Artagnan asked, sitting up on his haunches. Athos sat back, waiting as the liquid soaked in.

'We wait for a moment, and then we must-' his voice was cut off as the door banged open, sending some roosting pigeons in the rafters into a frenzy. It was the Captain of the Treasury Guards again, along with his men- each was carrying four large cloth bags, full to the brim with the fake gold.

One of the men looked across at them. 'He's not dead yet, then?' He asked, voice stretched with exertion as he put the bags down.

'Not yet.' Porthos replied.

'Won't take long.' The man said, whether sarcastically or truthfully, none of them knew.

'What are you doing?' Athos growled, eyeing them with distrust.

'Well we can't just leave it all out overnight, real or not!' The Captain said, scrabbling at the floorboards near the window- with a groan he pulled the rotted wood upwards, before stowing his sacks in the space, motioning for his men to do the same.

'Planning on a sleepover?' D'Artagnan asked, eyebrow quirked. 'Shouldn't you be hitching up the horses- I'm sure there will be room for Aramis, too?'

'Didn't you hear 'em?' One of the soldiers said, 'as soon as we untied 'em to drag the carriage back, they bolted! Near on kicked him in the head!' He pointed to his friend.

'Pity..' Porthos murmured, anger looming. 'So what you're saying is- we're stuck in the middle of nowhere...' A rumble of thunder pealed overhead. 'With a storm coming.'

'And an injured man.' D'Artagnan added, 'and no horse to get him proper help.'

'Relax, he'll be alright- my boys volunteered to go scouting to the next town, wherever that is-' he looked over at Aramis as he groaned weakly again, face contorting in pain. '-we'll get your man some help.'

Athos softened at his helpfulness, and gave the three of them a grateful nod. It was no use getting angry; no matter how much he wanted to.

'Thank you.' He muttered, before taking off his cloak and laying it over Aramis' shoulders. 'Try not to be too long.'

'Aye, we won't.' The man nodded, before the two of them made their way to the door.

As the door closed with a crash, sending a plume of dust into the air, Athos curled his fingers into Aramis' sleeve, a wave of helplessness washing over him; his pulse was strong under his fingers.

He quickly unrolled some bandages, the white cotton a stark contrast against the scarlet blood on his skin- he gently placed a wad of it on the wound, on top of the vinegar, before he began to bind the wound properly; d'Artagnan took hold of him to move him upwards a little each time, until the bandages were wrapped around his body, tightly binding the wound and stoppering the blood.

'Sleep,' he muttered afterwards, noting how Aramis' face has relaxed a little, before wiping blood from his own hands. 'Help is coming.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it may not be that simple....MUCH more to come!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos worries about his friend, Athos turns surgeon once more- and something happens none of them could predict...

Porthos sat heavily on the step by the door, sighing deeply as darkness began to fall around them- he was restless and jumpy, itching to do something. Anything.

A mumble from behind him made him turn round- Aramis, eyes shut tight, moaned in pain, long and high pitched, before he settled again, face still white.

Porthos chewed on his bottom lip, worry deep in his chest. Why were they waiting to get him proper help? He'd carry him to Paris on his back if he could...staying here was foolish-

'Porthos?' The word was stretched out as Aramis opened his eyes, bleary and pained.

'Right here, mate,' Porthos nodded, quickly coming to his friend's side as kneeling down, 'how are you feeling?'

Aramis raised an eyebrow, and Porthos knew he was thinking of a smart answer, something to throw him off the trail. To his surprise-and sadness- his friend sighed, the smile never coming. 'Not good.' He replied, giving him a sad smile that looked very alien on his face.

'You want something to take the edge off?' Porthos muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a hip flask.

'You sly old...dog...' Aramis chuckled, before wincing. 'I'd expect it f-from Athos...but not...you... ' a shaky, white hand reached out and took it. 'Only a little,' warned Porthos as Aramis swallowed some. 'Athos'll have my guts if I let you have a lot.'

Aramis nodded, face crinkling as the taste. 'Never was a...whiskey fan...' He muttered, sinking back down. 'Where is Athos, anyway?'

'He went out with d'Artagnan. Said they was going to find some food or something...' Porthos sat back, eyeing the darkening doorway.

He wouldn't tell him that the real reason was that he couldn't stand seeing Aramis lying lifeless on the floor, while he was helpless- Porthos had persuaded him to see if he could nab any rabbits, just to stop him going stir crazy.

'Are we...g-going to move on, soon?' Aramis muttered, teeth chattering in a sudden breeze.

Porthos nodded as he took off his leather jerkin, before lying it across Aramis with a smile. 'That's the plan.' He affirmed, wiping a hand down his face. 'You really scared me.' He whispered, eyes wet despite himself. 'Thought we'd- I'd- lost you.' He licked his lips, before taking a drag of his own hip flask.

Aramis looked up with wide eyes, realisation dawning on just how far to dying he had been- how far he still was to dying. 'I wasn't p-paying attention...' He replied in a low voice, but Porthos cut him off with an angry sound.

'You were protecting a friend- accidents happen, Mis.' He told him firmly, before his eyes turned softer as Aramis offered him a smile. 'That's better...' He muttered, chuckling. 'We'll get you back to Paris soon.' He promised, before looking up as footsteps echoed on the wooden floor.

'He's awake?' Athos said, putting down his brace of rabbits and hurrying forwards. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like a butcher has been hacking at my stomach...' Aramis replied lightly, smiling weakly. 'I feel alright, really.' He added, avoiding Porthos' eyes as he did so.

'Liar.' Athos muttered, pushing his hair away from his eyes as he knelt down. 'Let me see- we need to stitch it up now.'

'You didn't stitch it up before?' Aramis' voice was high. 'Didn't I tell you to do that?'

'No.' Athos muttered, but he continued before Aramis could protest. 'I remembered something Treville said to me- keeping the wound open for a while allows the antiseptic (alcohol in this instance) to properly coat and cleanse it. One more clean, and then we can stitch.'

'Oh...that's why it feels like there's something sticking in my stomach...'

'Yes, that's vinegar soaked cloth.'

'Perfect...' Aramis breathed, lying back and snuggling into Porthos' jerkin.

'Don't even think about sleeping.' Athos warned as he got ready to change the wound.

'Why?' Aramis asked, despite knowing the answer already.

'Because you might not wake up.' D'Artagnan spoke up, worry in his voice.

'Correct.' Athos confirmed, knowing that Aramis knew why he couldn't sleep. 'Try and occupy yourself-'

'How, exactly?' Aramis muttered, before his eyes clenched shut in pain as Athos removed the wad of cloth from his stomach.

'How's it looking?' Porthos asked, moving over to peer down at the wound - it was red, with dried blood around the surrounding skin; but the wound itself looked clean. At least to his eyes.

'Well?' He persisted.

'It looks...alright...' Athos nodded, before using fresh cloth to dab at the wound. 'I think.' He added, breathing in deeply. 'We need to get to Paris.' He whispered to Porthos as he turned to soak some cloth in more alcohol. 'I am no medic.'

'Aren't you?' Aramis growled from between them, teeth bared in pain. 'I had no idea!'

'Rest,' Athos told him, before gently cleansing the wound as best he could. 'Hush...' He whispered softly as Aramis whimpered, trying to comfort.

'Stop r-raking it!' Aramis protested, groaning loudly now.

'I'm sorry...' Athos muttered, wincing himself. 'I'm going to stitch it now..' He added.

'You've never stitched anything in your entire life!' Porthos found himself protesting, worry and alarm his his stomach.

'It needs to be sewn up- infection will set in if I don't.' Athos looked down at Aramis, 'Sorry.' He added, almost as consolation, as little as it was.

'You sewed up the hole in your jerkin, didn't you?' Aramis said quietly, struggling to remember.

'Yeah, you taught me how to.' Athos confirmed, getting the equipment ready by his side. The needle looked intimidating, much bigger than the one he had used for his clothes.

'It's just the...same...' Aramis muttered, already steeling himself. 'Just make it quick.'

'Of course...' Athos muttered, taking a deep breath himself, before beginning his work.

XXXXXXXX

After the wound was properly stitched Athos sat back, fingers caked in blood once more. Once or twice he thought he had made a mistake, or missed a stitch, but all in all he considered it a job well done- the wound was puckered with black, ugly stitches, but it was closed. He poured more alcohol on it, trying to ignore the hiss of pain from the man underneath him.

'Not...bad...' Aramis muttered eyes crinkled in a weak smile. 'Not quite t-to my standard...but it'll do.' He added, eyes flicking to Porthos as his friend barked out a laugh. D'Artagnan stepped back from looking out of the window as Athos was finishing up- he looked at the men quizzically, an eyebrow quirked. 'When are the guards coming back?' He asked, before looking around. 'The captain has gone too.'

'He went scouting around.' Porthos muttered, glad to be rid of him- his words heralded doom and despair...not something he wanted Aramis to hear.

'Why don't you go outside, see if they're coming back?' Athos suggested. 'There's not a lot any of us can do until they get back.'

D'Artagnan nodded, before buttoning up his jerkin and heading to the door. This left the three musketeers very alone in the barn- the silence was permeated by deep breathing from Aramis as he tried to contain his pain levels.

'How are you?' Athos whispered, eyes telling Aramis that he was in no mood for jokes or having a vague answer. Aramis looked over at him, trying- and failing- to swallow back a moan of pain.

'I need help.' Aramis answered quietly, sighing lightly. 'Soon.'

'You were lucky- it doesn't look infected... But we are running out of good alcohol to use.' Athos nodded, panic rearing again in his chest. 'I can go and l-'

'No, stay here-' Aramis muttered, eyes wide. He looked at his two friends, and Porthos was vividly reminded of what he must have looked like as a little boy,confused at why his knees were grazed after falling from his first horse.

He reached out and squeezed his shoulder, heart breaking a little as Aramis instantly relaxed at the touch, like he needed the reassurance. 'We ain't going nowhere.' He muttered, nodding lightly. 'Just lay back and look at the ceiling- soon the guards will be back with horses, food and medicine, and you'll be on your way to Paris.' He smiled as Aramis nodded and laid back, but as he did Porthos looked over to Athos. They exchanged a worried glance, but both knew that they could do no more than they already had.

They sat in silence for a while, before Porthos broke it by whistling a tune; the noise echoed around the barn, reverberating in the nooks and crannies as the moonlight shone onto their faces. He looked down at Aramis, tapping him slightly as he saw he had his eyes closed. 'No sleeping.' He reminded him, smiling as Aramis gave a protesting groan.

'I..wasn't...' He muttered, voice low as Porthos continued his chirpy whistling. 'Listening to him...' He added.

There was sudden talking outside, mumbled but firm, as if a fraught conversation was being had. 'The guards are back!' Porthos muttered, before both he and Athos stood- their smiles slipped from their faces as d'Artagnan stepped thought he door first, an angry look on his face and his arms in the air. A figure pushed him forwards so he almost stumbled- a musket was drawn before either of the musketeers could do anything.

'No, not the guards...' A man drawled, pointing his gun squarely at them, a broad smile on his face. 'Not quite.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long chapter as I couldn't find a good place to stop- the men demand the gold, and use some nasty tactics to get what they want...

Aramis tried to crane his neck to see what was happening- he felt a foot brush against his shoulder, solid and strong; it was Porthos, warning him to stay still.

'You're making a mistake.' Athos spoke, voice laced with danger. 'A big mistake.'

Aramis heard the man give a breathy laugh and the gun move around in his hand as he moved it around. 'Three musketeers, alone in the forest? Unarmed?' The man replied, before the voices of two others sounded as they sniggered. 'I don't think it was us that made the mistake.'

'Why do you think us unarmed?' Athos muttered tersely, despite knowing the man was right- all their gear was either in the corner, or in their coats, which were draped across their friend.

The man looked pointedly at them in their shirtsleeves, tinged red with blood. 'Lucky guess?' He ventured, before moving the gun to a better position. 'We're not here to kill musketeers,' he said, voice low, 'even we're not that stupid.'

Porthos snorted at that, pressing his foot tighter into his shoulder, just to make sure that Aramis knew he was there. 'What are you going to do then?' He asked, fingers itching to dive for his weapon.

The man shifted at that, and Athos could see that his eyes were flitting around the room- evidently looking for the gold haul that the captain and his men had stowed under the floorboards.

'It's not here.' He muttered; there was no use pretending they didn't know what it was that they were after. 'We had to leave it on the road. Surprised you didn't find it...' He added as a little sting.

The man grinned, as if agreeing with his words- suddenly d'Artagnan let out a surprised gasp of pain and buckled to his knees; the man had coshed him around the head with his musket.

No sooner had he fallen to the floor the man had the musket pressed to his temple, finger at the trigger.

'You really don't want to do that.' Porthos growled, voice low and dangerous. 'You really don't.'

'Give us the gold, and we'll be on our way, won't we boys?' He asked his two cronies, who Athos could see both wielded what looked like butcher knives. They nodded back, eyes sunken but filled with sadistic warning. 'Or,' he pushed the musket into d'Artagnan's head a bit further- the young man stared resolutely ahead, ignoring the blood running from a cut to the top of his head where he had been struck, 'we kill your friend.'

'If you touch him, we will kill you- and I promise a worse fate than he would ever have.' Athos growled, panic rising again.

Aramis suddenly cursed himself as a pain in his stomach caused him to cry out- there was silence for a few seconds, before the man spoke up. 'What's wrong with him?'

'One of your men shot him.' Porthos said angrily, not bothering to conceal his hatred. 'Nearly killed him.'

The man let out a little noise that sounded like a note of surprise, before a chuckle broke through. 'He deserved it- he killed my cousin.'

'As much as I'd like to argue the finer points of mortality versus morality with you, I think we have more pressing matters.' Athos growled, taking a step forwards- the gun was immediately pointed at him, before the man once more pressed it against d'Artagnan's head. 'Make one more move and we blow his head off!' He cried, eyes now dark. 'The gold. Now.'

'We don't have it!' Porthos bluffed. 'We already told you we left it at the-'

'Don't lie to me!' The man shouted, the noise echoing around the room. 'I know it's here!'

They both looked round as a man's voice suddenly burst into the room- the musket blast made everyone jump, not least the Captain of the treasury guards, who had just walked in to tell the musketeers that his men had found another town, and they'd be along soon. He looked down, stunned, at the blood blossoming in his chest, before his eyes widened, suddenly unseeing, as he crumpled to the floor with a gasp.

'Merde!' The man cursed as one of his other man went to check him. 'Who was he?'

'A guard of some sort...you killed a captain!' He cried, face ashen as he stepped back. 'This wasn't what we was supposed to do-'

'It doesn't matter- we came for the gold. By the time anyone comes we'll be long gone...' He muttered, before looking at the musketeers again. He looked down at Aramis, who was curled in on himself now, breathing a little harder. 'Change of plan.' He muttered, before pressing the gun hard against d'Artagnan's temple again, making him wince.

'You two, over here!'

Porthos raised an eyebrow. 'I don't think so.' He replied, looking straight into the barrel of the musket. 'You can shoot me where I stand because I'm not leaving him.'

'Now! Or I decorate this barn with his brains!' He growled, voice now strong and unwavering. 'You've got five seconds.'

Porthos looked across to the Athos as the man began to count down. 'I'm not leaving him.' He whispered, panic spearing like a blade in his chest. 'I won't do it.'

'Four!'

Athos breathed in hard, seeing how d'Artagnan made no move to look at either of them- he stared forwards, unblinking.

'Three!'

He turned away, as if starting to move. 'Have you got access to any weapon?' He asked Porthos in a hushed whisper. He shook his head, before giving a small, knowing smile. Athos understood at once- he didn't need a weapon.

'Two!' The man growled, pressing the musket into d'Artagnan's head even further.

'Alright!' Athos erupted angrily, stepping forwards with a glare. 'Porthos!' He growled as the other man stayed put. 'We can still see him, just come here!'

'I'm not leaving him alone!' Porthos spat back, fingers curling into fists.

'Then you condemn your friend to death-' the man muttered, before looking at his musket as his finger contracted...

'Ok! Alright!' Porthos growled, before looking down at Aramis. 'I'll be right over there.' He promised, before once again pushing his foot into Aramis' side; the man looked up at him, eyes creased in a frown, before it dawned on him. 'S'okay...' He muttered, giving him a weak smile. 'Go.'

'I'm running out of patience!' The man cried- Athos was just about to jump him when his men grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, a blade to his throat.

Porthos came slowly forwards, eyes dark. 'Don't go anywhere near him!' He spat, before he allowed the man to grab his shoulders and press a blade to his own throat: there wasn't much else he could do at the point- the man barked out a laugh, before taking the gun away from d'Artagnan's head; a split second later he struck him across the temple with the stock, sending him careening sideways, unconscious.

'No-' Athos growled, but the blade dug into his throat as he struggled. 'You'll regret that!'

The man gave another breathy laugh. 'I think not.' He crossed the room to Aramis, who glared up at him as he peered down. 'Gut shot?' The man asked as if making polite conversation. 'Ouch.'

'You have...no idea...' Aramis replied, trying to quell the pain.

'So- here's how things are going to work, gents.' The man said, looking up and giving the other two a smile. 'You tell me where the money is and we go on our way, never to be seen or heard from again...' Aramis looked up as if expecting the musket to be drawn at his face.

But it was much worse than that- the man lifted a booted foot and hovered it over his stomach. He suppressed a cry of panic and desperation, determined not to show the man he was afraid. 'Go on,' he growled instead, voice low. 'I dare you.'

'... Or I make his passing even worse than it is already going to be!' The man ignored his words. 'So, what will it be?'

The request was met with a stony silence as each man contemplated his words. Athos looked down at Aramis, anger spilling into his throat like bile. A sudden thought, forgotten until now, suddenly rose in his mind- the gold wasn't even real...

He could tell him exactly where to find it underneath their very feet...he could lead them to it, help them load their horses if he was asked.

A heavy thought now sank into his mind; they had killed the captain of a highly esteemed agency of the crown, and had now physically attacked a musketeer. Consequences had to be given.

His thought processes seemed to have taken too long for the man, however- he struggled blindly as what could only be described as a squeal of agony lanced through the room. Aramis clutched weakly at the boot now putting pressure on his wound.

'Please!' He begged, now past caring how he was perceived. 'Please!'

'I'll show you where it is!' Athos cried, tears in his own eyes. 'Take your filthy foot off him now!'

The man breathed out slowly, releasing his foot, eliciting a gasp of pain from Aramis as he did so.

'Show me. Now.'

'It's outside, just around the back...' Athos gabbled, grasping the hand of the man who held the blade and wrenching it downwards, 'just let my friend go.'

The man looked down at Aramis, who was now panting out his breaths. 'Done.' He muttered, before stepping back. 'Now show me.'

Athos nodded, glancing over at Porthos, who looked at him, trying to stop himself from frowning in confusion. 'It's over here...' He said, giving the man a small smile.

The man didn't look convinced- Athos decided he needed to sweeten the deal. 'I actually have a little here, just for a taste?' He ventured, hoping he wasn't making a bad situation even worse. 'Want it?'

'Where? Here?' The man asked, eyes darting around.

'Yes- under the boards just over here.' He bent down, wrenching the board open and dragging out a bag of the fake gold- he tossed it at the other men, who smiled, wide eyed.

'Why would you have put gold under there?' The man with the musket asked; Athos could almost see the cogs whirring.

'I didn't. The guards did- just in case.' He replied easily, shrugging. 'Wouldn't you do the same?'

The man mulled over the words, before shrugging. 'Guess so.' He finally said, before looking around. 'There was more than that that we saw.'

'Very observant.' Athos said, trying to remain as pleasant as he could. 'Its outside, if you'll follow me?' He walked forwards, eyebrow quirked.

'This better not be a trick.' The man warned.

'A musketeer? Tricking people? I'm insulted!' Athos muttered, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He led the man to a small door which opened out onto an expanse of stone round the back.

The man walked out first, eager to see the wagon of gold- Athos would have rolled his eyes if the situation hadn't of been so serious.

He seized his chance as the man peered around in the darkness, even going so far as to lean forwards, squinting into the air- he brought a doubled fist down on the top of his back, quickly catching the man as he instantly buckled.

He gently lowered him so far off the ground- about an inch or two- before dropping him entirely, a grim satisfaction flowing over him as his head hit the stone with a dull thump.

He waited a few seconds to make it seem real; the men inside still looking over Porthos and Aramis would expect the man to do a thorough job in checking out the gold.

He breathed in deeply, before picking up the discarded musket that the man was holding- he withheld a growl as he remembered that it had already been shot. He hoped the men inside had short memories.

He opened the door, brandishing the musket in front of him. 'Drop your knives and I won't shoot you!' He growled, eyes dark. 'Now!'

His menacing voice must have worked, as the men immediately dropped their knives and raised their hands. 'Good. Well done.' Athos muttered as Porthos kicked them away and began cracking his knuckles.

'Take that gold and go.' Athos urged, finger on the trigger. 'We have bigger things to worry about than you. We won't come after you, you have my word.'

The men looked at each other, eyes wide. Seconds later they looked back at Athos and nodded dumbly- they made for the door as if the very hounds of hell were snapping at their heels, clutching at the bag of gold.

A silence followed, in which Porthos and Athos each darted for a different man- Athos knelt at Aramis' side, fingers gently roving the cloths that held his wound steady; the stitches were intact, and no blood was seeping through, he saw with relief- that didn't mean it hadn't done damage, however.

Porthos gingerly poked d'Artagnan's shoulder, trying to rouse him from his stupor- Athos stood and came over to check on him as he blinked upwards, wincing.

As Athos turned to look over at the body of the treasury guard they all heard rapid footfalls behind them-

'Athos!' Porthos cried as he saw his friend pushed roughly to the ground- the leader of the men he had incapacitated linked his hands around his throat and began to squeeze, eyes bulging. Athos gagged and pawed at his thick hands, weakly kicking out to get the upper hand- Porthos was just about to run to help when there was an almighty bang from behind them, followed by a cloud of smoke.

Athos gasped out a breath as the man released him and sank to the floor, already dead. The smell of musket powder was thick in the air as a small groan of pain followed, coupling with a clunk of metal as the musket was dropped from shaky hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The musketeers finally make it to Paris, hoping that they're not too late....

Aramis sank back to the floor as Athos scurried away from the dead man and stood up, massaging his neck- d'Artagnan was just getting to his feet as well, putting a hand to his head with a pinched expression of pain.

Porthos hurried to Aramis' side and gently pulled the smoking musket from his trembling hands. 'Good shot.' He whispered with a smile, eyes widening as Aramis merely choked out a laugh and nodded.

Athos came alongside them, eyes roving his injuries once more- 'we need to get out of here and back to Paris, now.' He muttered, before nodding at his friend. 'Thank you,' he added, blue eyes wide as a bruise started to bloom across his neck.

'Don't...mention it...' Aramis replied, giving him a strained smile.

D'Artagnan was just about to ask if there was anything he could do to help when he heard the clopping of hooves coming round the front of the barn; he took out his blade, wary of more thieves or bandits coming on to see what they could pilfer- his heart sang in relief as he saw the figures of the treasury guards riding towards them.

One was atop a horse laden with satchels- and carrying the reigns for another horse- the other was driving a small cart, big enough for a man.

'Thought you'd never show up!' He exclaimed, smiling broadly despite his worry. 'Took you long enough.'

The men nodded apologetically as they came nearer, shrugging. 'We apologise- we were further away from any village than we thought!' One said, hopping from the wooden seat of the carriage and rubbing his cold hands together. 'How's your man?' He asked, before his eyes widened as he looked down by the door and saw the body of his captain.

'Thieves.' D'Artagnan muttered in answer, breathing in deeply. 'We can load him up with Aramis, but we need to get him to Paris as soon as possible.'

The men, who were staring somewhat dumbly at the corpse on the floor, nodded at his words, before they quickly carried him to the cart and putting him on it, draping a blanket over him to conceal his body.

'Right, let's get your man on.' One of them muttered after clearing his throat. 'There's no more we can do for him.'

D'Artagnan nodded, walking back into the room and looking across to his three friends- 'the guards are back.' He called to them as he walked closer.

Athos looked up at once, relief washing over him. 'Thank god.' He muttered, before looking down at Aramis and pushing his shoulder gently. 'Hear that?' He whispered, smiling down at him. 'We can get to Paris now.'

'No...' Aramis groaned out, breath hitching as he prepared to move. 'I want to...stay here...now...' He looked up with an old smile as Porthis laughed. 'Its...quite nice...don't you...think?'

'Lovely.' Athos allowed, smiling himself. 'A matron would be better, with nice crisp sheets and decent medical care, hm?' He added, standing up with Porthos to get ready to move their friend outside.

'Perhaps...' Aramis said, nodding. He looked up at them as they peered down, each letting out deep breaths. 'This is going to hurt, right?' He asked, before steeling himself as they bent down.

'Oh yes.' Porthos muttered in his ear as he gently grasped under his arms. 'Agonising. Torturous.'

'Probably won't live through it.' Athos agreed, stationing himself by his legs- they figured it would be easier to do it like this -stretcher like- rather than have him walk himself and potentially open the stitches.

'Ready?'

'Born...ready...' Aramis replied, already with his eyes clenched shut for the inevitable wave in pain.

'I hope that cart is ready!' Athos called to d'Artagnan, who shot outside to move it around to a better place. After making sure everything was set, he came back inside and stood between the other two men, hands ready to take the weight his stomach would make when lifted up.

'Right...' Athos said as they finally made ready to take Aramis out. 'Three...two...one...lift!'

Aramis choked back a groan as he was lifted into the air- d'Artagnan's hands immediately took the weight of his wound, but it still hurt as his body was stretched. He groaned through gritted teeth as they quickly shuffled across the room and out of the door.

'Porthos, get up first.' Athos instructed, arms wavering with the weight as Porthos took Aramis' head and shoulders up into the cart- he turned up his nose and gently kicked the wayward arm of the treasury captain as he made room for Aramis.

'Now you, d'Artagnan...' He added, before it was just him left to slide his feet onto the wooden surface. He climbed aboard to see how he was faring, eyes wide as he saw him with his head tucked in Porthos' side, grimacing in pain, as the other musketeer squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

'Its alright...' He heard him say, and he nodded down at the words as he and d'Artagnan hopped off the end.

'We don't have enough horses for all of us...' He said, inwardly cursing.

'We only had a little money.' One of the guards said with an apologetic tone.

'You've done well.' Athos said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 'We are forever in your debt. Thank you.'

The man nodded, a pleased expression on his face. 'I will ride on to Paris to tell them of your arrival and explain what has happened.' He said, looking over to the group of men behind them.

'Alright, good idea.' Athos nodded, before turning and mounting the other horse he had left behind as the man rode off down the road.

D'Artagnan, ride on the other seat at the front.' He said, before looking over at Porthos, who hadn't strayed an inch from Aramis' side. 'Make sure he's comfortable.' He told him, breathing in deeply.

'Don't worry,' Porthos said as he looked down at the man, who had managed to get his head nestled on one of his legs so he was more supported, 'I will.'

Athos nodded, before turning his horse in the direction of the road. 'Make haste.' He whispered to his steed, before kicking at the stirrups and leading the group as they set off for Paris at last.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'How long are they gonna be?'

'As long as it takes, Porthos.'

'He's been in there four hours now!'

'We have to be patient and just wait this out.' Athos said as he leant against the white washed walls of the hospital. Patients dressed in tatty, worn clothes shuffled around them, moaning incoherently and looking up at them with wide eyes as they passed.

The window they were stood opposite showed a slowly darkening sky, although as it was smudged and dirty, Athos couldn't see all that much out of it.

The treasury guard had been good to his word; the doors to the city gates were opened as soon as they were spotted riding down the road, allowing a swift entry into Paris. Treville was stood outside the main hospital as they arrived, arms crossed and eyes creased with worry.

Together they had managed to move Aramis onto a stretcher that the nurses had carried out- his wide eyes stared after them as he was moved away, up the stone steps and into the hospital.

Treville opened his mouth to speak, but Athos cut across him, finger pointed at him in an accusatory manner. 'You better pray he survives.' He growled, and he was glad their captain had the good grace to look down for a second. 'Why didn't you tell us the gold was fake?'

Treville looked up, face hardening as he looked upon his weary and bloodied comrades. 'Get back to the barracks and get washed- they'll never let you in to see him in that state.' He said, before softening as Athos' eyes bulged in anger. 'Why is he in that state?!' He exploded as Porthos dragged him back.

'Come on, let's go and see him... ' Porthos muttered in his ear, 'let's go and get all that blood off, yeah?'

Athos breathed out shakily, face ashen with anger. 'You haven't heard the last of this!' He promised Treville as the man stood there looking across at him. 'I know.' He replied, giving a small shrug. 'I can explain it to you all later.' He said as the three musketeers walked off down the road...

Now they were back, and anxiously waiting for any news from Aramis- his screams had stopped echoing off the walls, replaced by haggard breathing; Porthos could only suspect this to be a good thing.

'Should we knock?' He asked giving d'Artagnan a shrug as the man looked at the door, eyebrow quirked in wonder. 'Maybe?' He replied, before Athos spoke up.

'Yes, go and disturb them as they're doing something vitally important, like stitching him up or something!' He said, giving them both a look. They all stood up straighter as the door suddenly opened- a woman with a sweaty face and kind eyes, with blood spread across her white apron, looked up at the three of them as they surged forwards, eager for news.

'How is he?' Athos asked, heart in his mouth.

'He's alive,' the nurse replied, giving them all a reassuring smile. 'His injury was on the turn of infection, but we were able to cut away some of the flesh that held it- he is stable now and is sleeping. He will be on bed rest for a while to allow it to heal properly.'

Porthos clutched her forearm, eyes soft and glassy with relief. 'Thank you.' He said with a smile, gently squeezing her arm. 'So much.'

'Our pleasure.' The woman smiled back, bowing her head slightly to them before heading down the corridor to another room. 'Can we see him?' Athos called back to her.

'He is being washed by the other nurses to clean the blood away- when they have left you can see him for a while.' She replied, before turning and heading away from them.

They waited a few minutes as the women finished their task- they each made a point of thanking every one of them as they walked out the door; they were all eternally grateful at what they had done.

Porthos was the first to creak open the door, poking his head round at the scene- the room was darkened by thick curtains that hung in the large window opposite the bed, and the only light source were two candles on the beside tables next to each side of Aramis.

They crept closer, almost tiptoeing so they didn't disturb him- Athos' blade, hung on his hip, suddenly chinked one of the bedside tables; Aramis stirred, opening blearily eyes and peering around. He gave a small, weak smile as he saw his friends gathered around him, eyes round with concern.

'Thought you'd never show up.' He muttered, voice barely more than a whisper.

'Really?' Athos said, smiling at him as he opened his eyes wider. 'Thought you'd be in your element, being waited on by nurses, having them at your beck and call?'

'Well...' Aramis smiled, shrugging. 'When you put it like that...'

Porthos grinned, before pulling up a wooden chair and sitting in it, the others following suit. 'How are you feeling?' He asked, looking down at the blankets covering his stomach.

'Lousy,' Aramis replied, wincing as he tried to sit up- in the end he lay back down, grimacing. 'But alive. That's something...'

'It sure is.' Porthos nodded, eyes still racked with concern.

'Hey, cheer up,' Aramis smiled at him, clearing his throat. 'It might never happen, you know?' Porthos smiled at that, fixing it to his face...everything was going to be ok now.

'You really had us worried.' Athos muttered from a chair on his other side. 'I thought we'd be burying you today, not visiting you in hospital.'

Aramis nodded, a haunted look on his face. 'Thank you.' He told the three of them, eyes earnest. 'I owe my life to you all.'

'Don't be stupid, it's what we're here for, isn't it?' Porthos replied, rolling his eyes. 'We weren't going to let you die, where we?' He said, the question rhetorical.

Aramis breathed out slowly, all too aware of how close he'd come to not making it. 'They say I'll be in a lot of pain for a few weeks,' he said, looking at the three of them gathered by their bedside. 'That I won't be able to work for a while afterwards while I recover...' He shot a wolffish look at Porthos, who knew exactly what was coming.

'And that I'm on strict bed rest for at least two weeks...' Aramis' face was a picture on innocence as he peered up at Athos and d'Artagnan. 'I guess, what I'm trying to say is, I'm going to need some help, and-

'Oi-' Porthos interrupted him, eyebrow quirked. 'I am not wearing a nurses uniform!'

D'Artagnan barked out a laugh, shaking his head as Athos snorted, a humour and camaraderie that had been lost the past few days came flooding back as Aramis tried hard not to laugh.

'Stop...hurts...' He weakly giggled as Porthos shook his head at him. 'You've put an image in my head that ought not to be there!' He shot at him.

Their laughter must have been loud, for seconds later the door burst open and a matriarchal, ruffled looking woman strode in, eyes narrowed.

'This man is on strict bed rest!' She said loudly, crossing the room in seconds. She looked at the three men sat around his bed, who all looked down at their laps like scolded children as she huffed at them. 'Honestly!' She continued, shaking her head. 'Out now-leave him till the morning!' She ordered- Athos could see she was not one to argue with.

They stood, each trying not to smile as they caught Aramis' eye. 'See you tomorrow.' D'Artagnan muttered, nodding at him.

'See you.' Aramis replied, settling back down.

Athos cleared his throat, before giving his friend a smile. 'Get some good rest, you need it.' He said, squeezing his shoulder before walking after d'Artagnan.

This left Porthos and Aramis, although the former knew his time was up as the matron began tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. 'And you.' She said pointedly, before going round to Aramis' other side and pulling back the chairs.

'See you in the morning.' He promised, smiling down at him. 'I'll-' he bent down so the matron couldn't hear him whisper, '-I'll smuggle you in some proper grub, not gruel or rotted carrots!' He told him.

'Sounds good!' Aramis replied, grinning.

'Alright, so get some rest, and we'll all be back tomorrow.' Porthos nodded, before bending his head slightly at the matron in thanks and heading for the door himself.

The last glimpse of Aramis he got before he shut the door was of him making a dramatic 'help me!' face as the matron plumped the pillows behind his head- he grinned as she caught him and playfully swatted his shoulder, before standing back, shaking her head at him with a rueful smile.

'I'm going to have my hands full with you, aren't I?' She scolded- Porthos snorted at her words as he shut the door with a snap. A life without Aramis would be inconceivable, too hard to imagine. As he strode down the corridor to meet up with the other two he thanked everything, holy and otherwise, that he was still here- and hopefully for many years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I suppose technically, this is the end! I've got a smaller epilogue to end with, but the guys' story ends here!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and will stick around for the epilogue….thanks for reading and supporting my first foray into m/c Musketeer fics!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men get their comeuppance...

Epilogue

Three days later...

The sea air, fresh and salty, clung in the men's nostrils as they waited impatiently for their craft. The ship to Spain has been delayed due to bad weather, but they had been reliably told by the skipper of another ship that they'd be along soon.

The younger of the two sighed, fingers straying to inside his coat and shirt, to the rough bag that held the last of the gold. They'd paid handsomely for a trip into Paris, brought the finest garb that would befit a King- now they were waiting at the dock, staring out to green and choppy sea for signs of the ship.

'Wish Jean could be here.' He said quietly- he was feeling guilty they they'd never even looked back once they'd run out of that barn. 'This was his plan.' He added, shifting weight from one foot to another as his toes went numb.

'These things happen,' his older brother told him, shrugging. 'We got out, and that's the main thing.'

'We should have killed those musketeers before we left!' The younger man spat, shaking with cold and with anger. 'Too many loose ends.' He continued, sniffing.

'Yeah, and have the whole of Paris on our backs from now till the end of time!?' His brother scolded, shaking his head. 'You do talk stupid sometimes.'

They stood in silence for a few minutes, each peering across the ocean once more- a woman and a man came and stood beside them; the woman's brown hair was flying around in the wind...the younger man could smell her perfume on the breeze.

'Off on your holidays?' He asked her, eyebrows raised.

'Something like that,' the woman replied, staring ahead. She looked across to what must be her husband, the man reckoned- he had a large hat on, presumably to keep out the wind.

'I hear Spain's lovely this time of year!' He continued, before undoing his coat and beginning to take it off his shoulders, 'want this?' He asked the lady, 'you look mighty chilly!'

'Thank you, but I'm fine.' The woman replied, nodding a thanks.

The man shrugged, and began putting it back on. 'Got cold for nothing...' He grumbled, sighing as he stood back next to his brother, who rolled his eyes at him.

'There she is...' He breathed after a few more seconds- the ship was still a way off, barely a blip on the horizon.

'How do you know?' His brother asked, squinting.

'I just do.' His older brother replied. 'Practice.'

The woman's husband stretched out of the corner of the younger brother's eye. 'Hear about that hold up in the country?' He muttered conversationally- the man could see he had a folded newspaper in his grasp.

'No? He replied, folding his arms to stop his hands from shaking. 'What hold up?'

'Thieves on the road. Attacked a shipment of gold that was being taken to the city,' the man continued, 'big news- surprised you haven't heard. Just got into town, have you?'

'Uh, yeah- father kicked us out so we're on our way to Spain to stay with an Uncle.' The younger brother gabbled.

The man made a noise that sounded like he understood, yet he couldn't see his face. 'Huh. They killed a man- the captain of the treasury guards.' He said, throwing his newspaper to the ground.

'Did they?' The older brother said, standing in front of his brother. 'That's a shame.' He added, voice laced with a tone that said "back off".

'It is, yeah...' The man replied, nodding from behind his hat. 'Mortally wounded a musketeer, too.' He said, voice now dark. 'Died this morning.'

The younger brother sucked in a breath,eyes wide- he hauled his brother backwards, mouth to his ear, 'he died!' He whispered, teeth chattering, 'we killed a musketeer!'

'No we didn't!' His brother growled, anger in his eyes. 'Relax- they don't know anything!'

'We're never going to be free...'

'I told you to relax!' The brother hissed, shoving his bag in his chest as the boat came near, almost close enough to dock. 'Lovely meeting you both, but we've got things to do...' He began, turning back to the two others on the dock. His voice cut off in his throat as he saw that where there had been two people, there were now four, each with anger in their eyes.

'Bollocks.' He spat, flinging an arm out to protect his brother.

'How eloquent.' Athos muttered, musket already in hand. 'We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's entirely up to you.' He added, finger already on the trigger. 'I suggest the hard way, but that's only because of the way I'm feeling.'

'We didn't mean to kill your friend!' The younger brother cried, earning a glare from his brother.

'Are your brains made of pig swill?!' He shouted, face alight with anger. He breathed in deeply as the sounds of rapiers being drawn now met his ears.

'Gentlemen.' He said, holding his hands up. 'We elect the easy way.'

'Shame,' Athos muttered, nodding to Porthos and d'Artagnan to grab their hands and arrest them- 'd'Artagnan threw his hat to the ground and stepped forwards. 'I was looking forward to fishing you out of the dock.' He growled, not altogether joking.

'How did you find us?' the elder brother demanded, chin jutting out to show intimidation- Athos merely smiled, shrugging.

'Well, apart from shop keepers noticing obvious peasants handing around coins like they had fallen from the sky, coupling with your over-the-top purchases on your way here...' he started, quirking an eyebrow. 'The gold was fake- easy to trace, mon ami.' He finished, smiling.

The man only scowled, going red in his neck- before he could retort Porthos shoved him forwards with a growl.

Constance stepped backwards, the revolver in her hand hidden from sight in the folds of her dress so the others wouldn't see- Athos nodded at her as he passed, a smile on his face. 'Well done.' He whispered.

'I didn't do anything.' She replied, an eyebrow quirked as she fell into step next to him while the other two dragged the struggling men along behind.

'No, but you were ready to.' Athos said, breathing in deeply. 'That's what counts.' She smiled up at him, shrugging.

'We'll be a while processing these two and getting them into jail for the night- I expect the trial will be short.' He continued, holstering his musket. 'You can come with us if you want?'

'I'd like to see that, but I better get back home.' Constance replied.

'That's fine- afterwards we'll go and tell Aramis the good news.' Athos smiled. 'That'll cheer him up.'

'How is he?'

'Bored.' Porthos butted in as he dragged the older brother along. 'Very bored.'

Athos witheld a smile- their friend was now cooped up in his room, having been discharged from the hospital to make way for others; his only task was to sit there and recover. Naturally this had been at odds with his usual self, so he'd persuaded them to give him the weapons that they didn't need on an everyday basis (such as second muskets and daggers) and had sat cleaning and polishing them. What he'd do after that, Athos didn't know- probably go completely stir crazy.

'I'll have to pay him a visit, bring him some cakes and pastries to cheer him up.' Constance replied,smoothing down her dress. 'Poor love.'

'He's alright- its us that you've got to feel sorry for! He'll be a nightmare when he starts feeling better, trust me!' Porthos argued, grinning.

Athos nodded his own agreement, before they turned the corner to the gaol, already bustling with Red Guards and Musketeers alike. 'Come on then,' Porthos growled, pushing the man roughly forwards. 'Lets get you sorted.'

Constance stood back as the men surged forwards, before d'Artagnan nodded goodbye to her from the door. She waved back, frowning as a man whistled at her as he was dragged to another door. 'Charming.' She muttered to herself, before quickly walking away and back down the Paris streets, leaving the screams and cries of the damned behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for sticking with it- I am so glad so many of you have enjoyed this story; I had so much fun writing it!
> 
> I am sure I will be back soon, I have well and truly been bitten by the Musketeers bug!
> 
> Please comment one last time, I would love to know what you thought of it all!
> 
> Until next time...
> 
> Happyday girl x

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, if only it was that simple....
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up soon!  
> Please comment!


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